Missing Moments
by natashabromanoff
Summary: collection of short one-shots. prompts accepted.
1. bro that's so not cool

Alex knows his life is the direct opposite of normal, so getting to spend some nice normal quality time with his best friend is a highlight.

"So, where were you this time?" Tom asks. He happily munches on a packet of chips. "Or am I not allowed to know?"

"You're probably not supposed to," Alex replies, "but it was Cuba." He stares at the buildings across from them, silently and unwillingly noting every detail, every tiny thing that could possibly mean danger. There shouldn't be any danger here, of course, in broad daylight with witnesses all around, but he can't change the way he thinks now.

"I've heard it's nice there," Tom says brightly.

Alex's mind flashes to the oily smoke of a bombed boat, to blood-clouded waters, to Sarov. Sarov.

"Yeah, it was nice," he lies. His words only choke him a little.

Tom looks at him sideways. He's skeptical, definitely, but by now Alex is used to that. He feels like he'll be facing it a lot more.

He steals a few of Tom's chips, noting but not responding to Tom's protests of, "Bro…that's so…not cool…you said you didn't want any." He stares at the people around him, feels the warmth of Tom next to him, knows that he himself is alive, and wonders.

Who would believe him if he told them how close they were to losing everything?


	2. fight me you attractive stranger

"I don't know why this keeps happening to meeeeeee," Alex whines as he lies back on the couch.

"You need to stop looking for trouble," Jack says disapprovingly. "I don't know how it's possible for one person to end up so much danger all the time."

"I don't know either!" Alex exclaims. "It's not like I go looking for these people! It's not like I walk around hoping to put myself in mortal danger! This isn't my idea!"

"Oh, really," Jack says with an edge of sarcasm, "because I thought maybe you just wandered around going, 'fight me, you attractive stranger!' to everyone you come across."

"They're not even attractive," Alex mutters.

"Well, that's too bad." Jack crosses her arms and adds with even more sarcasm, "Maybe you should try harder."

"What, if I try harder I get a villain upgrade or something?" Alex almost laughs despite the very serious problem of regularly almost dying. "Maybe if I save the world a few more times I can get in on some A-listers instead?"

"Exactly." Jack's face and tone suddenly soften. "Seriously, though, Alex, I'm so worried about you. Please be careful."

Alex sighs, not in frustration but in sheer exhaustion. "Don't worry, Jack. You'll be stuck with me for a while yet."

He doesn't know – can't know – how much of a lie that is.


	3. people lie all the time

**A/N:** warning: suicidal thoughts

* * *

Alex kneels in the grass, staring blankly into the dead face of Julius Grief. His own face. He shot his own face. He shot himself. He -

He doubles over and heaves, gags, but there's nothing to bring up. He wants to cry and scream or maybe just lay down right next to Julius and never get up again. A murderer. That's what he is now. A killer.

He stares at the gun still in his hand. He's already killed one person. How hard can it be to kill another? He considers, slowly, if there's anything worth staying alive for.

He might see Jack again.

Before he can do anything, someone is suddenly there, taking the gun from his hand, trying to talk to him, trying to get him to move, but Alex can't do anything but stare and hate and suffer and know that he doesn't deserve to live. Doesn't want to live.

He doesn't want to live a life of being someone else's tool. Of facing danger over and over again until finally he can't beat the odds. Of knowing that everyone who loves him will leave, or die, and that he is only a force of destruction. Of being fed pretty lies and excuses that can never be true. Of being who he is.

"Listen, it's going to be okay," the person keeps saying reassuringly, over and over again.

 _Yeah, right_ , Alex thinks. _I've heard that before. And people lie. All the time. It's all they ever do._

Alex is alone, and scared, and tired, and he is a killer. And nothing is okay. And nothing ever can be.

* * *

 **A/N:** alright, so this is my attempt to get back into writing. I'd love to hear some prompts, thoughts, or just general encouragement. hopefully you can look for updates to either of my multichapters soon. we'll see.

please talk to me! 3


	4. letters from the dead

**A/N:** I was prompted "what's with the box?" and "this is, by far, the dumbest thing you've ever done."

* * *

Alex is hoping no one is home, so he's a little disappointed when he walks in to see Ben sitting at the table doing what looks like a lot of paperwork.

"Hey, Alex," he says tiredly. "How was school?"

"It was alright," Alex replies. He closes the door. "I'm finally getting caught up with most of my classes."

"That's good. Education is important and all." Ben waves a hand in Alex's general direction and yawns, then looks up. "What's with the box?"

Alex shifts, barely. He doesn't think he can outright fool Ben. "I'm going to take care of some stuff in my room," he finally settles on, which isn't entirely untrue.

"Need any help?" Ben asks. He's either too tired to care that Alex isn't being totally truthful or maybe just too tired to notice. Alex is grateful for that.

"I'm alright, thanks though." Alex fidgets nervously with the edges of the box.

"Yep." Ben returns his attention to his paperwork. "Make sure you get your homework done."

"I will," Alex throws over his shoulder. "Get your adult work done."

Ben groans. "I will."

* * *

In his room, Alex sits at his desk. He puts the box down, stares at it. It's small, black, very simple, with a small and probably not very secure lock on it. Which is alright. He doesn't need any crazy security on this.  
He pulls paper and envelopes out of his backpack and sets them on his desk, then takes a piece of the paper and starts slowly writing.

 _TO BE OPENED ONLY IF I, ALEX, AM DEAD._

Alex looks at the neat block capitals and sighs. _This is, by far,_ he thinks to himself, _the dumbest thing you've ever done._

It's not like Alex wants to die. He doesn't – really, he doesn't, although it had been touch and go for a little while after Jack died. He just knows what a major possibility it is. Anything he does could put him in danger. MI6 could decide to send him on another mission. Someone from his past could find him. A car could hit him as he crosses the street.

Really, he could die anytime.

So is he being weirdly fatalistic or just planning for a possibility that has a good chance of coming to be?

Alex isn't sure.

He takes the envelopes. Each one gets a name – Fox, Wolf, Eagle, Snake, Mrs. Jones, Blunt, Crawley, Tom. Maybe he'll add more later, but he can start with those.

There's a knock on his door. Alex shoves the envelopes into the box and slides it under his bed, feeling suddenly guilty. "Yeah?" he calls.

"There's dinner if you want it," comes Snake's voice from the other side of the door.

"I'll be right there," Alex says.

* * *

The letters are harder to write than he expected. Alex ends up staying up late into the night, much later than he should, trying to figure out how you write a letter to someone for after you're dead. Is he supposed to reassure them? Try to comfort them? Will it just make them more upset? He has no idea.

Eventually, he's too tired to keep writing. He rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He'll have more time to work on these. Hopefully, he'll have years. Hopefully, most of these people will die before him and he'll live to old age and this just won't even be a problem.

Hopefully.

But he knows in his life, he can't even guarantee himself that much.

Alex puts the box under his bed and lies down. Despite his exhaustion, he can't really sleep. He wonders. He wonders how it would feel to have had a letter from some of the people he's lost. From his parents. From Ian. From Jack. From everyone else he's killed just by the curse of being himself.

He would do almost anything for some closure. His parents telling him they love him. Ian doing the same, maybe. Jack's forgiveness. Everyone's forgiveness.

He can only hope that his letters will offer the same to others.

* * *

 **A/N:** reviews and prompts mean the world to me :)


	5. everything about him was a lie

**A/N:** taken from the prompts "everything about him was a lie" and "envy, cradle, coffin"

* * *

Everything about him was a lie, and sometimes - when the lines between his true, real life and identity and his covers started to blur in his mind - it scared him. Scared him more than most of the things he had encountered in his terror-filled life. Scared him enough that sometimes he just had to take a moment and run through what he knew was real - his name was Alex Rider, he was twenty years old, he grew up in London but traveled the world, and just about everyone he ever cared for was dead.

But sometimes it was easier to let himself be absorbed into another identity. He could become someone who had parents - suportive, loving, still alive. He could be happy, bright, let himself have fun and maybe forget how terrible the world really was.

When Alex was acting as one of those people who got to have a normal life, he thought about it a lot. What would it be like, he often wondered, to be typical from cradle to coffin? He didn't even know how would deal with something like that - going to university, having an everyday desk job, getting married, having children, growing old and dying with someone by his side, and never being in more danger than the ever-present risk of random accident.

Alex wasn't sure if he envied lives like that or not.

But he knew he'd never have one, not for real.

He didn't get a real life anymore.

* * *

 **A/N:** let me know if you enjoy or have anything you'd like to see! currently in the suggestion list are jack and tom dealing with alex getting shot, something with alex and tom and james, and something about alex's training at malagosto, but i can't guarantee when i'll get to anything. i'd still love to hear your thoughts! thanks for reading :)


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